I wake up with stones in my pockets, dragging me down, sprawling across the floor as I try stumble into the day that has been patiently creeping down the trees, under the eaves, over the sill all morning long. I lie sprawled across the tiles, a trellis of sunlight splashed across my stubbly chin, my neck, my bare shoulders and my pajama-clad legs. My eyes and my brain box still lurk in lingering shadow, questing through the last nocturnal marches for a rewind button. But it is day and I am fallen, fallen across the cool tiles now warming in a patchwork beam in which motes flick and flecks fly.
So, the stones: I draw them out. Continue Reading